


Fear And Loathing In Wentworth

by JoansGlove



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Cut Bea Smith and you can rest...."</p><p>A tale of Joan, Jodie and THAT baton</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear And Loathing In Wentworth

**Author's Note:**

> With acknowledgement to Iain Banks' 'Transition'
> 
> Thanks to Duchess and Tomboi for their support and encouragement
> 
> I do not condone any of the activities detailed in this piece of fiction

The Governor let herself into the Slot. Spiteri lay twitching in her tortured sleep, defenceless on the thin mattress.  
Joan sat down on the edge of the hard cot and gently placed her left hand over Spiteri’s nose and mouth; she pressed down on the girl’s face as she started awake, terrified and fighting for air. Her eyes bugged when she saw her visitor.  
“Come on, Jodie. Let’s go. It’s time.”  
Jodie cringed with abject fear. Her arms itched. 

She sat naked on a narrow metal chair, dirty fluorescent lights flickered high overhead, stray beams strobing from cracked casings.  
“I do hope you’ve given careful consideration to my proposal, Spiteri.”  
The prisoner had shown no signs of capitulating over the last few nights. Her misguided loyalty to Doyle and Smith would only serve to prolong her ‘correction’.  
“Cut Bea Smith and you could be in the open prison at Gunella within the week.”

The pathetic girl had begun to weep, hiding her face in her bony hands as Joan circled. Pausing behind her Joan rested her hands on the back of the chair and leant over to whisper in her ear with a voice like poisoned velvet. “You know, you could just ‘disappear’ into the system. I could have you shipped anywhere in the country and who would know hmmm? No one will miss you. You're worthless; you're pointless; you're mine to do with as I please.”

Jodie began to scratch at her forearms, the tablets Ferguson gave her made her itch all over – she guessed they were opiates – but every ounce of stress seemed to be concentrated on the faded needle scars that tracked along her veins.  
Ferguson smiled in satisfaction as Jodie stared up at her with scared, tearful eyes. She liked being good at what she did, loved the fluency of the ballet of control. Not all of her subjects made suitable partners; some were never invited to dance, just to submit, and of those that were asked, well - most crumbled after the first movement, but not Spiteri; she had resisted the humiliation and pain remarkably well. She could be a hard-won prize thought Joan. She felt the flush of familiar arousal spread beneath her uniform at the thought of repeatedly exercising control in such an intimate setting, her fingers twitched, the soft leather of her gloves issuing a barely audible creak. This was exactly the sort of vulnerable female she liked to deal with. A reasonable figure, if a bit on the thin side; lesbian tendencies, low self-esteem and no real support system. What made it even more delicious was that Spiteri was infinitely disposable.

“I’m not asking much from you Jodie, a single action to ensure the womens’ continued privileges. One swift blow to bring down a bully.” She moved to face her subject, her eyes searching the haggard features. “I mean, who do you suppose is responsible for you being slotted in the first place? You owe Smith nothing!”  
Joan began to circle the girl again, savouring the conflicted emotions that shouted loudly in Spiteri’s skittish eyes. She stopped and bent down to look her squarely in the face. “Yes, that’s right. It was Smith, with the help of Conway of course.” She reached out and stroked the pale cheek. “She doesn’t care that you’ll get another seven years; she’s not concerned with stopping the drug supply….” Joan’s voice dripped sympathy. “If that were true then Doyle would be occupying this chair and you’d be safe and warm in your bed.”

Joan’s gloved thumb whispered across Jodie's cheekbone and traced the lower ridge of her shadowy eye socket, the stitched tip brushing the dark lashes fringing the reddening lower lid.  
Jodie stiffened. Once Ferguson made her first play, touched her, she knew that the bitch wouldn’t stop until she was cowering in utter misery and fear.  
“You’re worthless.” The Governor’s voice was soft, almost comforting….  
She followed the curve of the socket, thumb pressing into the delicate skin.  
“You’re pointless.”  
Jodie’s nails dug into her arm, the pain was dulled by the orange pill the Governor had made her swallow back in the cell.  
“You're nothing.”  
Her tormentor gripped the bones of her face, forcing her lower lid into her eyeball.  
“No one misses you, no one cares.” She crooned.  
The vision in Jodie’s right eye distorted and dimmed as it rolled back in its socket under the insistent pressure.

“You're so ugly, so worthless. You don’t deserve to live if all you do is allow weak people to play you… your life will never amount to anything.” Her thumb stroked the thin upper lid, translucent skin fluttering under the delicate touch.  
A film of tears sparkled under Jodie's dark lashes.  
Joan’s right hand found Jodie's breast; the tense girl stiffened further, experience telling her that it was going to hurt. She wasn’t wrong. Ferguson made a fist around the soft flesh, her fingers cruelly digging into pale, clammy skin.

Jodie cried in pain. “Please…” she pleaded, “…please stop! I can’t! I can’t do what you ask…!”  
Her words were cut short as the Governor’s thumb pushed into her eyeball.  
“I see no reason why you should not. It’s not lagging.” Joan looked almost motherly. “People get hurt all the time in prison, Spiteri, you know that. Why should it be you when it could be Smith? Cut her and I’ll see that you are looked after.”  
Jodie’s nails broke the skin; blood seeped into the channels carved by her compulsive scratching.  
Joan viewed the mess with disgust and stepped away, crossing her arms. “Look at how foul you are. You aren’t fit to mix with general population. You should be locked away where no one has to see you…. Where no one will miss you.”

Joan moved behind Jodie again and applied firm pressure to her shoulders but there was no massage. She played the pressure points like a world-class pianist.  
She leaned into Jodie’s ear “Cut Smith, Spiteri.”  
“Nooo! Oh please, nooo. I can’t!”  
Both hands slid down to bare breasts using the natural friction between skin and leather to painfully manipulate nipples stiffened by fear.  
“You're weak and stupid but you can change all of that. Cut Bea Smith and you can rest.”

Joan shook herself free of her reverie. She basked in a serene sense of wellbeing and regarded her reflections in the outer doors of the reception area. They gazed back with liquid eyes.

*******************

Her good mood disappeared as she caught sight of Channing’s coven gathered in the break-out room. She fixed Spiteri with a questioning stare: What have you done? Are you strong enough for this? 

Spiteri gagged and coughed as Joan forced the baton down her throat. Bile burned in her sinuses. Joan stood over her blotting out the hazy light that fell from the shadowy ceiling. Her gloved hand, latex replacing leather for this stage, settled on Jodie's fevered forehead and wiped away the sheen of sweat then slipped down over pleading eyes; Spiteri’s lids fluttered against her palm.  
Suddenly Jodie couldn’t breathe! Her nostrils were clamped shut between Ferguson’s thumb and finger and her throat was blocked by the evil baton. She tried to tear her head away, twisting her body off the chair but she was knocked back by Ferguson’s knee ramming into her solar plexus, pinning her down, winding her; the chair teetered precariously on two legs. Hot, stinging tears began to flow as her mind choked in terror. Her sightless eyes imagined strange patterns that flowed, dimming and flaring behind her lids as she began to lose hope. 

Then Joan released her vicious pinch. Snot flew from Jodie’s nose as she emptied her lungs and heaved in blessed air, dragging it in around the brutal obstacle of the baton.  
“You’re disgusting Spiteri! I’ve already had to swill you down once tonight, do I have to do it again?”  
Joan stepped away and pulled the phallic rod out of her victim’s mouth then slapped her face.  
Jodie’s head snapped to the side under the force of the blow.  
“Look at this mess!” Joan slapped her again. “How can you let yourself get into this state, eh?” This time she back-handed the snivelling wretch.  
“You’re so revolting, how do you expect people to look at you, hmmm?” Joan’s hand flashed across Jodie's breast, her hard fingers snapping against a taut nipple before returning to her hip. Her wide nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath to fuel the power she felt flowing through her. She cuffed Spiteri round the side of her head. “Stab Smith as I ask and I’ll help you.”  
“Please…! I can’t do it! She’ll kill me!”  
“Is that worse than what I can do to you? I could make you crave death every single day for the rest of your life.” She rammed the tip of the truncheon into soft, unprotected belly, driving the air from the stricken prisoner. She bent down to face Jodie. “I could poison your life forever, Spiteri. How long do you think you’d last if I did that, mmm?” One look at Ferguson told Jodie that she was deadly serious. She doubled over and hugged herself against the horror that Ferguson promised.

Without warning Joan grabbed Jodie by the neck and dragged her across the room, slamming her face first into the rough, unpainted wall. The baton bit deep into her buttocks and thighs as Joan began to beat her, backed up by her body weight her vice-like grip pinned Jodie's head to the breeze block as blows rained down.  
“No, no, no….! Leave me alone!” she sobbed. “Just fuck off! Aaaaghhh….!” Joan aimed for the bony protrusion of Spiteri’s shoulder, the sickening crack as it connected rang out in the dark room.  
“You have no need to fear Smith, I’ll protect you. You need to believe me Jodie; put her out of action and I’ll make you a trustee.”  
“I don’t want it… I don’t…!” Fat tears fell onto the concrete floor.

Fingers dug into hair and scalp and Jodie was dragged back to her chair. Ferguson was so much stronger than she was, it was pointless to struggle.  
Bending over the girl Joan gently wiped away the tears and mucus. “I’m not asking much from you, am I? Not really.” She caressed Jodie's face, returning again and again to cover her mouth and nose, intermittently restricting her breathing.  
“I meant what I said – I can make you disappear – no one will ever try to find you, no one will care. Your so-called friends will soon forget you – you’re nothing to them; they’re too selfish and small-minded to worry for long.”  
“You’re wrong! They do care!”  
“Oh, yes? Then why have none of them come to see me to plead for leniency?” Joan stepped over Jodie and straddled her lap, the hot weight of her thighs made Jodie gasp in surprise. “Why has no one stepped forward to take the rap and save you from injustice, hmmm?” Jodie returned Ferguson’s questioning gaze with hopelessness, she knew that no one would ever willingly dob themselves in.  
Joan clamped her hand tightly over Spiteri's lower face, compressing the youthful flesh. She held it there, gripping the back of the girl’s struggling head, until the skin around her fingers was scarlet. She held Spiteri still and lowered her crimson mouth to the flushed ear. “Take a knife and thrust it between the traitor Smith’s ribs, open her up. It will all be over in a moment – and then you can rest.” She released her hand and allowed the anguished creature a measure of leniency. “You won’t hold out for ever, I guarantee it.”

She couldn’t contemplate hurting someone; she didn’t have it in her to do something like that! She just didn’t know if she had it in her to say no to Ferguson for ever – if she said yes just to end it all right now Ferguson would hound her until she’d … God, she didn’t even want to think about it! And someone would find out eventually, Ferguson couldn’t protect her no matter what she promised….  
Joan read all of this in her anguished eyes. “Don’t doubt yourself, Jodie. It’s there in all of us – when we need it, when it’s necessary.”

She stood and moved round to the side of Jodie and crouched down to fasten her wrist to the chair frame with a plastic tie, repeating the process with efficient ease on the other limp arm. Joan noticed traces of blood shining dully on the black rubber of her gloves as she stripped them off to tear a strip of duct tape from the roll she’d brought along to aid tonight’s events. Stepping in front of her ward Joan closed the quivering mouth with a tap under her chin and tenderly smoothed the silver strip over chapped lips. Ripping off a small piece from the roll Joan sealed off Jodie's left nostril. She really liked using tape, it offered a much more precise and calculating method of engendering distress and despair.  
Pulling a stool up behind Jodie, Joan straddled it; her inner thighs pressed tightly against the chair’s unforgiving frame, Spiteri’s arms trapped by her muscular legs. Joan leaned forward and draped her arms over the pale girl’s shoulders, grasping the baton in freshly gloved hands and digging the hand grip hard into her sternum.  
“Cut Smith, Jodie. Do it for me….Do it for the other women.” she pushed the stick down till it sank into soft belly. Jodie moaned through her nose at the focused pain and the tape bellied in and out with her distressed breaths. She shook her head.  
“Do it!” She emphasised her words with sharp pulls on the baton.  
Jodie shook her head again,  
“Such loyalty. But is it fear or love that commands your allegiance?” Joan's hand slid off the black stick and covered Jodie's breast as she swivelled the baton downwards, bringing its tip into contact with the upper reaches of her cleft. “Do you love Smith for all she’s done for you?” Joan ground the nightstick into the furred division. “No, I rather think it’s the former; you fear her strong-arm tactics, that vicious temper of hers.”  
Jodie gave a muffled shriek as Joan mercilessly twisted her nipple and rammed the smooth rod hard against her agitated clitoris.  
“Come now, what’s all this noise for, eh?”  
Jodie's head shot back and hit Joan’s collar bone. Joan took the opportunity to smother Jodie, forcing her head back deeper into her uniformed shoulder, murmuring “Would you rather I cut you? Electrocuted you? Pierced you with fish hooks? I could always charge Doyle and tell her you lagged – see how the women deal with you….” She let Jodie go. “Pick your poison, Spiteri.”  
Jodie said nothing.  
“No? They don’t appeal to you? Very well.” Standing up Ferguson stepped once more in front of her and offered up another piece of tape to her open nostril, Jodie breathed in, unconsciously aiding Joan as she perfected the seal. She stood back and watched in satisfaction as the prisoner began to pull at her bonds, her face and neck darkening as her limited oxygen was quickly depleted by her panicked brain. Joan held Spiteri’s desperate gaze until her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she slumped forward. Lifting her head by a clump of hair Joan removed the tape from the unconscious woman’s nose and slapped her awake.  
“Now, we’re going to try this again. Deep breath, Jodie! She said brightly and pressed a new piece of tape over her quivering nostrils. Joan gripped the baton by its body, the angle of the shaft and grip fitting snugly into the angle of her thumb and forefinger; she applied the cylindrical tip of the butt to the dark channel between clenched thighs.  
“Open up for me, Jodie; embrace it. I’m the only one who can help you find your way out of this situation, Jodie, you know that don’t you? I can give you back your self-respect. Believe that you can do it; find the courage, Jodie. I know you have it, that’s why you resist me still…But it’s misplaced. You could restore every single woman’s privileges if you only tried. Do you believe me?” She ripped the tape away as Jodie's eyes began to flutter. “Do you?” She tore away the strip covering her mouth, Jodie's cracked lips began to bleed instantly.  
“Please help me!” The frail child begged and grovelled.  
“But until you decide to find that courage how can I? You’re worthless, you’re pointless, you’re nothing.” 

Joan became aware of Spiteri’s distress piercing her daydream. She leaned across to the Ombudsman’s representative and said in a low voice “If I may…er, may I? I just, I am a bit concerned for the prisoner’s mental state, perhaps a five minute break?”

****************************

“…Prisoner Advocate Smith will not be able to take part in this hearing, she is, ah,” Joan paused for effect, “incapacitated.” Channing and the fool from the Ombudsman’s office faded into the background as Joan focused on Spiteri sitting across from the panel. Her desperation shone like a beacon under Joan’s inspection.  
“I’m sorry.” She pleaded. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” The abject creature moved towards Joan as if to throw herself at her feet for mercy.

Joan jammed the night stick into a soft breast. “Don’t you want to hurt Smith? Make her pay for all of this? She needs to taste somebody else’s vengeance for a change. You’re just a pawn in her game, Jodie – you know that don’t you? You should align yourself with the winning side.” She twisted her wrist and gathered a spiral of skin under the functional tip.  
“Can’t you see the truth of the matter? Truth is beauty, Jodie, the truth can set you free - Smith did this to you, Smith - no one else! She set you up, she defied me, and yet you cling to some sort of loyalty to her. She has no loyalty to you….” Joan leaned on the end of the baton making Jodie wince.  
“Truth?” Jodie gasped with near hysterical laughter. “If I tell the truth you’re finished!” What did she have to lose?  
“Oh, Jodie.” Joan shook her head sadly. “Do you really think anybody would ever take the word of a prisoner against a Governor? How many times has that ever happened do you think?” Joan lifted Spiteri’s chin so that their eyes met. “And what do you think happened to those prisoners that were foolish enough to make an allegation hmmm? Do you think it turned out well for them?” She smiled gently as Spiteri’s bravado evaporated. “Yes – that’s your truth if you are foolish enough to think anyone really cares.”

The crisp, circular edge of the baton’s tip lightly traced the short span between Jodie's navel and the border of her pubic hair.  
“You WILL hurt Smith for me.” The hard, curved angle ground into her clit. “You’d be a fool not to.” She kicked Jodie's feet wide apart.  
Jodie felt the blunt tool forced hard against her dry entrance and protested wordlessly.  
“You could make this easier for yourself, you know.” Joan twisted the stick and shoved as she felt Jodie's muscles give a little.  
“Oh god, no! No, please, don’t do this, please……” She tried to tuck her exposed sex underneath her, away from the unwanted intrusion. “Please, Miss Ferguson, stop it, I can’t do it! I can’t! God I hate you!”  
Joan grabbed her behind the knee and dragged her forward in the slippery seat; she twisted her hand again and rammed the baton home against the anguished cry that raged from Jodie's lips. “There’s no point in struggling,” she hissed, “give into it, Jodie. Hurt Smith” With a grim expression she worked her arm hard and fast yet was careful not to push past the tide mark of slickness that marked Spiteri’s physical limit.  
A sexual assault of this severity was one of the least pleasant things she found herself forced to do as part of her job – it transgressed the perks of the established grey area and entered the criminal. She wanted Spiteri to capitulate quickly, to end this unpleasantness; what was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t the stubborn girl yield? At least there was no chance that she would get carried away in the heat of the moment and cause some real, documentable injury.  
Joan took a small vibrator from her pocket and applied its buzzing tip to the shrunken nub hiding away under its hood. Spiteri jolted. Joan observed how it grew hard under the continual mechanical assault.

“Nooo! Stop, oh please stop!”  
“Only you can stop this, Spiteri, only you….”Joan stared intently at Jodie, her face a mask of pained sincerity.  
She began to flick the hard plastic toy over the quivering girl’s clitoris as she rhythmically thrust the black rod in and out between bruised inner labia. Jodie's body jerked as her cunt fired signals through her frame. Her battered legs flailed as she writhed in her bonds, unable to fight the approaching orgasm, helpless against her body’s natural reaction to the event.  
Joan leaned and started to whisper in Jodie's ear. “You’re nothing, Spiteri; you’re pointless unless you choose not to be, worthless. You’re so stupid; change that – make the right choice.”  
Jodie's neck arched as her brain surrendered to the relentless assault on her cunt; she came, lips stretched in a rictus, hating every second of the overwhelming carnality.  
Her mind fractured as the competing waves of hormones crashed, forcing hate into love and fear into contentment – she was truly fucked up….

“Cigarette?” Jodie watched dumbstruck as Joan shook one from a pack; she tapped the unfiltered end against a shiny gold lighter, lit it and then reaching out, placed it between her lips. Jodie drew on the tube of tobacco, sweet, acrid smoke filling her mouth and lungs.  
Ferguson cut her bonds and lifted her hands into her lap.  
“Drink?” The Governor reached into her pocket and pulled out a miniature of brandy. “Come on, it’ll make you feel better.” She smiled encouragingly at the nervous woman.  
Joan extracted another cigarette and regarded Spiteri coolly as she tapped the tip against the initialled lighter and then placed it between swollen lips; the letters IK caught the light as she flicked the wheel and raised the flame. The ember glowed brightly as Joan sucked hard. Her mouth watered with the first illicit taste of the thick poison as it flowed effortlessly in and out of her throat, floating away from her lips in a lazy, sinuous wave that coiled and billowed in the shafts of sparse light. She pulled another miniature from her pocket and crouched between Jodie’s splayed legs, offering it with a solicitous smile, squinting against the column of blue smoke that rose from the unfiltered cigarette dangling at the corner of her mouth.

They sat entwined in the corner; Joan tenderly cradled Jodie between her thighs as she sat at right angles to her, Jodie's drawn up knees were hooked over Joan’s leg, her bruised back resting against the other; she leaned sideways into the warmth of the Governor, grateful of the security of her strong arm against the chill gloom.  
Jodie was beginning to look forward to this part, creepy as it was she couldn’t help herself – after all the pain and fear this was a blessed relief and she got the sense that Ferguson actually felt something approaching affection for her. That Ferguson wanted this pain to be over as much as she did. 

“So sweet, so delicate. You’re my good girl aren’t you?” Joan stroked Jodie's bedraggled hair, smoothing it into the curve of her neck as she flattered her some more. “Won’t you do as I ask? It could be like this all the time, no pain, no discomfort; just easiness. Make me proud of your courage, my dear.”  
The alcohol and opiates in her bloodstream made Jodie feel warm and sleepy, how badly she wanted to just slide into the oblivion that fringed her consciousness safe in the arms of her erstwhile abuser.  
“This is what you will remember isn’t it Jodie? How I fuck you so good? How much you like the way I touch you afterwards, how I make you come ….. how all that goes before is nothing, a mere irritation compared to how special I can make you feel? Say yes and we can dispense with all the unpleasantness, I’ll make you forget all the others Jodie. I’ll be all you think about….” She nuzzled her face into Jodie's neck and softly stroked her cheek. “My good girl.”  
Jodie began to cry. No one had ever made her feel like this.  
“Shhhh shhhh shhhh shhhh… Oh my poor baby, oh it will come good, Jodie, I promise.” Joan pulled Jodie closer into her comforting embrace and curled her long legs around her bottom, rocking her softly like the frightened child she was. “You just have to say yes.”

Later she tenderly laid Jodie on her bunk and covered her shivering body with the lumpy quilt. “Stay safe,” she whispered and caressed the girl’s cheek with soft, leather clad fingers before retreating to the doorway where she stood silhouetted like the angel of death. 

Joan remained immobile as they hauled Spiteri away and the other bit players gathered up their things and made movements towards the door.  
They would never defeat her, not at her own game; but let them try she thought to herself – the thrill of battle kept her sharp and offered unexpectedly pleasing avenues of divertissement. She looked forward to the next skirmish but first she would have to plan her response to Spiteri’s treachery.


End file.
